Letters From Nowhere
by MagicalGirl23
Summary: An Overactive Imagination. An Old Desk. Parallel Worlds. Throw in a little bit of magic and a dark, mysterious stranger. Thus so began her adventure into a new world where the lives of many were changed and dreams can still come true.  STORY REVISED .
1. Prologue

_**Hello! This is the beginning of the rewritten version of my previous story, "Letters from Nowhere". First off, if anyone rereading this is one of my old loyal subscribers/reviewers. I want to apologize for my abrupt deleting of the previous version. I ended up having to do so because some EXTREMELY RUDE individuals rather than being adult about a problem they had about my story and coming to me about it, one I would have been happy to hear and resolve. (That is what the bright purple PM Button is for people!) **_

_**Instead of simple flames they spammed my story with bigger, and uncalled for negative comments and I couldn't remove them. So now because of these sour grapes ruining it for everybody else, I will no longer be accepting anonymous comments on any of my stories for a while. Because while I have blocked the offending parties, I can't be 100% sure they or somebody they know on their behalf won't try to weasel back in and try it again. So I warn you here and now, if I have to go thru that again, I WILL report whoever it is to the site after they are put on my blocked list. **_

_**Because I won't have some putz with a chip on their shoulder come try to pick a verbal fight with me simply because they don't like what I write. And spoil it for all the other respectful readers by revoking their privileges for them. On the upside I was planning on a rewrite of this fic anyway, so I had everything saved in back up, I just deleted the whole thing earlier than planned. But still it's the principle of the thing.**_

_**I don't own Godchild. I'm just playing Goddess and manipulating the characters lives to satisfy my own warped desires. Though I admit to have taken a LOT of liberties by borrowing bits and pieces from favorite comics, books and cartoons, like Pokemon and Japanese manga. However all that belongs to their own respective parties and etc, I'm only borrowing them to play with in my story. They will be returned to the collective toy box with full credit given to all involved when all is said and done. **_

_**On another note, people I don't remember "everything" I've read over the years, or where it came from. I just write off the top of my head and usually put down the first thing/scenario that pops into it for this fic. So if you see something that's similar to something you know in this story. I'm NOT a bloody psychic or freaking mind reader, **__**PLEASE BE RESPECTFUL AND PM ME**__** so I can make sure I'm not offending anybody, and or I can correct a problem. **_

_**I check my emails every day, sometimes several times. I love hearing from my readers, weither it be ideas they'd like to see in a particular plot or thoughts and concerns. I check AND answer when I have time. I'm NOT here to make any money; I just like to write for fun and enjoyment as a hobby. So please, DON'T spoil it for me and others by having a complex, Thank you.**_

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><p>"<em>You make a living by what you get; you make a life by what you give."- Anon.<em>

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><p><em>Below average.<em>

That's all you could say for her really.

She was one of those dregs of society, unlike its own massed produced drones she expected little out of life and vice versa. Though she eked out a meager living, all she wanted was a small content existence and asked for no more than that. Life and the people therein paid about as much as attention to her as one would a gnat. Only dealing when necessary and quickly or to use her as a convenient scapegoat for their own mistakes or try to force feed their opinions down her throat. Even her own parents had abandoned her long ago to further their own selfish ambitions with new loves, new children and all-around new lives. Only acknowledging her out of guilty obligation when holidays came about with a check and hollow wishes of good luck. Though honestly, it was only really a tenth of the time if they even bothered to remember her.

For she was neither pretty, accomplished nor outwardly talented like her perfect step-sisters and brothers. Not even worth a second glance if you passed her on the street. Though had the world cared to come out of its hard shell long enough it would have come to a startling realization.

This young woman was one of those rare people both, wise and quietly clever, who understood more about the inner workings of life than it did. She was kind, yes. That was all well and good. But if one had had the privilege of knowing her personally would have found a multifaceted personality of such depth and character, it would have left you wondering, _**"How the hell did I miss that?"**_

But nobody cared about her opinion, and she had figured out a long time ago that it was better to keep her mouth shut. Nobody was going to listen. Another strange thing about her was though she was a scrape goat and ignored, she felt no rage as a normal person would. Instead she felt pity for she had always known that she was extra special, if not where she was living now. Then someday it would find her, at least she hoped. For unfortunately she had seen enough people live to their life's end and not achieve what they were searching for, or even be happy at all for that matter.

She practically lived in the Library, books like Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings appealed to her. And she thought the Chronicles of Narnia and The Never-ending Story were very nice, up to a point. She liked Saturday Morning Cartoons, Japanese Anime and the WB. The Last Airbender, W.I.T.C.H., and Charmed were some of her favorite shows. She had always believed in magic as well as other worlds and such. Among other things, she was picky about what she liked but each favorite had their own lessons to teach and she welcomed them for they taught her more in a single half-hour to an hour than her bigoted peers ever had in years. Also addicted heavily to role-playing, it didn't matter if it was books or a TV Show inserting an alternate version of herself into the stories. There she having been everything from a member of an ancient pantheon, down to royal and slave alike. Even as mythical creatures with magical powers, she lived a life fuller than most people could even dream.

It helped keep precious hope alive and sanity intact. Other than that on the outside she was, below average.

And it was that same hope that led her to the destiny she was always sure would come for her. In her small hometown there was an even smaller street that was known as, "Antique Row." Not particularly fancy, packed though with mostly junk for the few tourists who bumbled through town, every now and again. But if you came on the right day and were not afraid to get yourself dirty you could sometimes get lucky finding beautiful treasures. It was on one of those particular days that she found, what she would later describe as the "_it"_.

It also happened to have been located in the one upscale shop on that rundown stretch of road. Two measly days after she had just lost her job on a technicality that her typical hateful managers had just waited to terminate her loyal service on, ironically wasn't even her fault. But it was just one of many things that had not been going well that year. But it was an impulsive purchase, paid for with her few remaining funds that should have gone for car insurance. Still she wasn't the first person in the history of everything to do such, nor would she be the last. Plus, she was a woman when she wanted something she usually got it no matter the cost, literally in this case. When finally managed to get it home it was crammed into an unoccupied corner of the spare bedroom that was used for nothing other than storage. It sat there looking somewhat cramped in the confined space, a hidden valley amid mountains of boxes. There it sat and she taking the time to really study it more indepth.

It was a gorgeous desk, certainly nineteenth century by the look of it. It was a bit narrow for its size though in extremely fine condition, and continued to be so. An obscene amount of bubble wrap and duct tape from three separate (and now sold-out) office supplies stores plus almost every padded comforter in her home made sure of it. Anybody could say what they liked about her, but if it was one thing that actually could be said about her, whatever she had. It would be given the utmost care and upkeep. The desk appeared to be pure Victorian stock she wouldn't have been surprised if it had once graced the halls of royalty. She couldn't tell what wood it was but it was dark with the original finish. It had a cubbies for letters and such, drawers and shelves for knick-knacks with a slide out door to shut it all in. All in all, it was worth every penny she had paid for it. But there was just something surreal about it, almost as if it didn't belong. Maybe that was what attracted her in the first place; whatever the case she knew it was not your typical piece of furniture.

Oh, how right she was.

For it wasn't too long after that she found, the first letter...


	2. And So it Begins

_**Now before anyone asks. A long time ago I saw this really cool made for TV movie by Hallmark. It was a about a guy who finds a desk and starts getting letters from the original owner. In short, great romance! Majorly sucky ending! It's bothered me for, I combined it with Godchild and that's how this little plot bunny was born. Which I thank you for reading. BUG HUGS all around:). **_

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><p>"<em>Nothing strengthens the judgment and quickens the conscience like individual responsibility." –Elizabeth Cady Stanton-<em>

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><p>It had started out simple enough.<p>

Misplacing something was not unheard of in her home, but it was still inconvenient just the same.

Especially if said item was one of your favorite graphic novels.

That's what happened to her that particular afternoon and she had just barely gotten it out of the bookstore bag too. She often misplaced stuff and found it again in the oddest places. Once she had found her MP3 player in the fridge wedged in between the butter and a six-pack of Cherry Pepsi. Another time it was the VCR remote in the dryer, or her all-time favorite the car keys in the jewelry box, how half this stuff happened, she hadn't a clue. It wasn't her fault really, truth be told she just got distracted easily when something didn't really interest her all that much or just got overwhelmed with too much at once. It was usually the latter. She just did so much at once it was rare that she afforded herself a treat such as that. Especially with her new jobless status, it was again actually _could_ afford it, barely.

Fortunately though, it was located rather quickly, safe and sound in the main drawer of her new desk. It was the first volume of the Godchild series; she'd seen it many times skimming over the shelves of her preferred nook at the bookstore. Having never paid it much mind until the day when none of the current installments of her preferred titles were in, not wanting to leave empty handed, so she settled for that. Though had to admit her curiosity was rather peaked even before that. Because she had managed to get a review peek of a few of the assorted chapters in her favorite Japanese import magazines. Usually she stayed away from the angst, but as an artist herself, the artwork was positively exquisite.

Plus, the guys were just too adorable! Everything about them, even the evil ones just made a girl want to grab them up into a bear hug and say, "Aww, poor baby! Let me glomp you and make it all better!"

So she took a chance and bought the book…past purchases aside that wasn't the strange part; rather she found a piece of paper. It wasn't that in itself wasn't unusual, after all where else would one find writing paper but in a writing desk. It was neatly folded in half on top of her book partially obscuring the bold, glossy title. As if it had always been there, and she was _absolutely_ sure it wasn't when the book was put in the drawer for safekeeping. The writing table flipped up to lock the drawer securely away. Unless a sick over one-hundred-something somebody was sneaking in for the sole purpose of leaving scrap paper, she had the only key in existence. That sane, rational little voice which everyone has, told her to throw it in the wastebasket and be done with it.

So, naturally she did the opposite.

Pulling up the old kitchen chair which was the only one in the house that even closely fit the diminutive stature of the desk. She carefully opened it to reveal a very neat, precise hand. But the contents of the letter absolutely shocked her. For it read...

_To whom it may concern,_

_I say this with the utmost conviction, I am so tired. Tired of everything that the horror of my cursed existence has bought me. The terror of my birthright has caused nothing but sorrow from the moment of my conception. From my mother's insanity, to my father's past incessant attempts to turn my end into a prolonged elaborate game. The wealth and privilege that legacy has left to me has bought me nothing but loneliness in a gilded cage as those I love die about me. Please don't think ill of me whosoever reads these last lines, know that I do this to protect you all. That is my final gift to you. My most faithful friend, my beloved little sister take care of each other. And know that I will watch over you from a better place secure in the knowledge that you are truly safe._

_C.H._

She was stunned to say the least, it wasn't everyday one stumbles across a suicide note, especially one so elegantly written. Needless to say, something about it just tweaked at her the wrong way. It bothered her all the rest of the afternoon, even seeping into her few dreams that night. So much so that she awoke with dark circles the next day. She understood what it meant to have an ultra crappy life; it might have been different on a hundred levels. But the fundamentals were the same.

Yet, what she had suffered gave her a prospective, she wasn't a people person. Not by any means, considering how much injustice she had suffered at the hands of her fellow humanity. Still in having learned she wasn't the only one who had ever endured sorrow and pain because of the thoughtlessness of others. The point she had found was that every life was a precious work of art, a divine gift, to be cherished with utmost reverence. To simply throw it away was in her opinion showed nothing short of pure cowardice. Oh, she had had many a time when she could have spat in the face of God and said, "Screw you, take it back!" However so many good experiences would have been lost in the process too.

At that point she didn't care that this person might have lived, over a century ago. Or that responding to a letter that nobody was ever going to get was probably pure insanity, she just had to do something. If only to put her own mind at ease she pulled out some blank computer paper and began her own letter...

_In response to the person whose letter I've found,_

_A Gift, please? Don't make me laugh! You obviously think very highly of yourself because its apparent to me that you don't think of anybody, but yourself. You take the fool's way out! The simplest lessons are the hardest to understand and I had to learn this the hard way."_The circumstances of one's birth are irrelevant; it is what one chooses to do with the precious gift of life that determines who they are."_ Anyone who allows their ears to be cut by the blades of wagging tongues and stupid gossip long enough will think those things were their own thoughts to begin with. Which is obviously what you've done, but I won't pity or feel sorry for you. You're doing a well enough job drowning in your own pool of blood and self-pity. _

_Your parent's choices are theirs alone, sewn and reaped; you have nothing to do with them any longer. Any dimwit can take their lives with enough effort; it takes real strength to preserve and persevere. You end it and your father wins without trying, you've already done his work for him. Think about that. He is gone, let the dead bury the dead and be done with the matter. The grave is no place for the living to dwell for long; we will all be there soon enough when our natural time comes._

_Get over yourself, you egoist!_

It might not have been the greatest rendition of all time. And she doubted anyone in their right mind would be intimidated by that stupid letter. Still, it made her feel better all the same; folding it up with the note she replaced into the drawer, locked it back up and went about her business.

Still, it floored her none the less when she received, _the response..._


	3. Hate Mail from Within

_**Please do let me know how I'm doing so I can improve! Thank you!**_

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><p><em>"When really angry...count to ten. When really, really angry...swear!" - Mark Twain -<em>

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><p>Truth be told, she had forgotten about the whole incident in under a day.<p>

At this point, she didn't have time to allow her attention to wander on things she considered so petty. It was over and done. She had no one to rely on, not even a pet at home, just herself. Well, aside of the house plants, but they didn't really count.

Humans, especially those in her immediate family, after the one incident she had decided to be unbiased to them. It had started when her father and step-mother began by asking her to open her home to her step-brother.

In short, it had been the worst three months of her life! And that was no understatement!

As well as permanently put her off the idea of ever owning pets in general, _for the rest of her earthly existence!_

It had further strengthened her resolve not to trust the greater whole of humanity in general, well not the ones in her town anyway. Still, she couldn't complain. The one bright spot in all this was that she got her unemployment out of her bastard penny-pinching ex-bosses. So, that took a big load off her mind in general where the bills were concerned, at least. But she knew it wouldn't last, so was out every day hoofing it. But it was slim pickings and when your town has only one major street even more so. Plus you've already worked at least half the employable places on it, and hated every one of them to boot.

Well, in her defense they usually were out to get her from the get go.

Because she had this one annoying habit most major store chains frown upon, thinking for yourself.

Sometimes she wished she had in real life, half the powers that those in fantasy were blessed with. Like Medusa, for example. She could think of more than a few people who could better serve others in somebody's back garden. All cute, yet permanently posed, mouths finally spouting out something useful instead of cutting down others self-esteem. Maybe for a charming little garden party or Fourth of July picnic.

That thought made her smile, after that she was on a high. For the rest of the afternoon, it took very little to make her do so. She was a very simplistic personality. But was on that high that brought her to back to her "study" as she had taken to calling the storage room a few days later. As she searched for a pen to try and assemble a resume, almost as an afterthought pulled open the drawer once again. But before she recalled that it was not the specific one she stowed her writing utensils in, before once again noting something strange. There was no paper on the bottom; in fact there was nothing there at least as far as she could see. That was odd. Furrowing one delicate brow, she pulled it out a little more she smiled. No need to panic, there it was in the back it had only been pushed back. After all she reminded herself sheepishly, she had shut the little drawer pretty hard the other day. But as she prepared to throw it away, it was suddenly apparent that these weren't _her_ papers. Distinctly remembering paper clipping them together the night before she had closed the drawer last. Just so she wouldn't lose them.

In fact, this was entirely new! Even the paper was different a heavy, cream colored parchment like stuff, neatly fan-folded more like a standard letter. Like the type one might receive in the mail on a fancy invitation rather than just casually tucking it away. All search attempts were off for the moment as her curiosity flared to life as she examined this unexpected new development. As angry as her letter had been it was nothing compared to this!

_I don't know who the hell you are! But rest assured I will find out! I don't know what or how you, obviously a lower member of my household. You have nerves of iron, I'll give you that. But to have the right to break into my personal effects, then dictate my life or actions! What makes you think you know anything about me! But know this when I do find you out, I will prosecute you to the fullest the law has to offer in this country! Or maybe just have you thrown into deepest cell in Bedlam because anyone who would write that absurdly is obviously not in their right mind!_

A milestone was marked in her life that day; she developed her first real twitch.

Just below the right eyebrow.

If she could have seen her face in a mirror at that moment she would have seen it exactly resembled, what was referred in anime as a 'pre-explosion'. You know, when a character gets so angry it's like a countdown to Armageddon and as a whole the latter would be a preferable alternative. Then all the supporting cast have to cower like blubbering idiots behind blast-shields, i.e. furniture or under the nearest bed or even call in a SWAT Team whichever was closer.

It was a miracle in itself the paper in her hands didn't burst into flames from the heat of anger alone. Though it would be out-of-shape indefinitely as she wadded the fine paper into a tightly compressed ball heaving it into the wall, which it bounced off of and made a perfect shot into the wastebasket below. It seemed even fate wasn't going to tempt her anger at that moment. The ensuing enraging eye-of-the-storm kinda calm of that small room would have caused any sane creature to run for cover. A burglar who was outside took one look inside what hung in the air like an unsaid promise of pure and utter malice caused him to do just that. Not to mention, go straight for the rest of his days.

But she never knew that as the cannons became armed and ready for a full out verbal assault.

_ME! How dare YOU! I'M NOT the one who was contemplating suicide! I'm also NOT the one sneaking into anyone's anything! I'm not so bored or hard-up as to stoop to that! And I know my place, it's __**not**__ under your feet! You, some jerk I've never even laid eyes on! I'm not part of any "household" save my own. Speaking of dictating actions that letter isn't any of your business anyway. It was probably written over a hundred years ago, way before I'm sure you were even born. I found it in __**my**__ desk, anyway! You're obviously the one who's got a screw loose! I'll be having the cops throw you in lockdown at the nearest Maximum Security State Pen sooner than you'll ever get to me! And FYI, I happen to __**like**__ the way I speak, so bite me, you freaking poof! _

And just to irritate whosoever was on the other end this time as a personal touch, wrote it on _Neon Pink_ paper.

The next day, a hand was a bit cramped from having to write the most exclamation points she had ever done in one setting in her entire existence. Though fortunately, she wasn't one to stay mad for too long. Which was good if she actually had the means to be the vindictive type there would have been a _long_ list of people's social lives having died a slow, painful death buried in her wake. Other than that, it was a pretty good day. At least in her opinion, but that all changed once again upon entering the study.

Another letter was waiting in the drawer...

And that annoying tic came back, and by that point she was getting more than a little miffed. Who and the hell was doing this?

It was way past April Fools Day and why did she get to be the lucky recipient of this migraine inducing so-and-so? Surely, there were other more gullible people with lower IQ's on the map; many of them conveniently located a short jaunt away here in Hicktown, USA. Just to be sure she went around the room to double, even triple-check everything. The windows while ancient, were barred tight and the shades and curtains drawn to keep the room cool. The door's, front and back, were securely chained and locked away with deadbolts. Just to be sure when she had checked outside she had locked the door taking the key with her as she checked the perimeter of her residence.

She had even gone so far as to check the desk on hands and knees to check every nook and cranny, front and behind, so thoroughly that only an MRI machine could have done better. Which in turn earned her several scratches, rug burned knees, and a rather nice bump on the forehead for her trouble.

Nothing was wrong; it was in short, perfect.

That's what buzzed her the most as she sat down once more to read into her own personal Sherlock Holmes mystery.


	4. A Bargain Struck

**_Ok, I'm going to take a chance and lift the Anon. Reviews ban, so more people can review. The warning still stands, constrictive criticism is accepted, blatant flames and negativity, NO! I see even one spark of flamer, I WILL REPORT to the site admin! I won't take anybody's immaturity anymore. Alright then, I hope you enjoy your stay in the meanwhile._  
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><p>"<em>From the sublime to the ridiculous, there is but one step." -Napoleon-<em>

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><p>And so it continued back and forth for how long, she didn't know. Honestly, having lost complete count after a certain point.<p>

Because as soon as one thing was said and sent off, another would come back just as graphic, sometimes even more so, and half of it was usually ranting about the both the paper and grammar used.

Having gotten into the habit, just to get a few extra pot shots in. Had started to send off her replies on the weirdest paper she could lay her hands on, the colors had started out normal enough pink, purple all those kinds of normal solids. But as the other's letters had gotten nastier, so had the paper. Going from solid colors, to wild bold prints, like polka dots or animal prints, once even scented with a strong perfume.

That one had produced a _really_ satisfying reaction.

Word for word, pound for pound, each one matching the other with skill and ease. It went back and forth like there was no tomorrow. And it didn't look like there would be a stop to it anytime soon.

But while she'd long ago established that nobody was breaking in, when she had spent a rather uncomfortable night slumped over the desk. A huge police flashlight she'd picked up at an army surplus store clasped tightly in her grip, no idiot burglar was going to get the jump on her. And none ever did. She was glad her brother didn't live with her anymore with his late night habits he probably would have come home and she'd never have heard the end of it, and the entire family via Facebook or MySpace the next day. Nothing starts the day right like being labeled "certifiable lunatic" alongside the previous "black sheep" status in the family to boost one's self esteem. But she did learn something, well aside of the fact that sleeping at odd angles doesn't improve the life's outlook of one who's naturally prone to ill moods in the first place.

Nobody was doing anything.

However that night had taught her to get smart. Quite literally, taking a proverbial page out of her mysterious "admirer's" book started carefully looking back over the contents of the letters she started noticing unusual things she hadn't before like words, grammar even handwriting. Things that while weren't foreign to her as she was very-well read and watched a lot of the various history and documentary channels on TV. They wouldn't be in normal conversation as they were primarily, if one put it in a logical sense, last century.

_Bedlam _for example, was one of the largest asylums the nineteenth century. Located in England, famous for not only those it housed. But its methods of 'curing' the criminally insane or just anybody they felt like labeling guinea pig. Basically if you went there, and somebody wanted to be rid of you nobody would ever find the body, or that you even existed for that matter.

Aside of that the paper itself which was a light parchment-like vellum had the consistency and color of fine butter-cream, the way the letters were paraphrased and the handwriting could only have been spawned by one with a very high degree of education. Maybe aristocratic.

Plus, something about that stupid desk in general, just struck her as totally odd. The way the things were pointing was just too much of a coincidence to be an accident. There was only one place she could go, Antique Row.

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><p>She had been welcomed warmly by the wife of the owner, whom had originally sold her the desk. Apparently the middle-aged woman was something of a history detective, and was more than delighted to have a willing ear with whom to share her obsession. She had just smiled at that, the woman was a bit over enthusiastic, but was willing all the old guy probably would have been worried she wanted to return it, and might not have let her get a word in edgewise. It was true what people said about if you wanted to know anything relevant about a matter, kiss up to the highest woman in the place. Still, she had to start somewhere anyway, if said woman was a crazy old woman, so be it.<p>

Over a cup of Earl Grey and little teacakes, the older woman had pulled various papers out of a neat folder. She was impressed, the older lady was organized she'd give her that. "Now what did you say it was, dear?" she asked in a gentle, grandmotherly voice.

"An English secretaire," came the reply. "Regency, I think."

The look of recognition was almost instantaneous. As the older woman put the folder down, "I don't need this then." She pushed it away and it was the younger woman's turn to look confused.

"I remember it, very well actually. To be honest, I don't know where it came from."

"How is that possible? Surely it had a return address from a previous owner?"

The older woman shook her head. "Yes and no. We get a lot of crates and packages here, dear. And while it had our address on it, it only said London, England on the return manifold. I just assumed one of my husband's suppliers had sent it. He was just as stumped as I. No matter what we tried, we couldn't find out where it came from. It was lovely though, we set it out on the floor and hoped it would catch someone's fancy. It sat there for quite some time until you purchased it. Why did you want to know? "

Sensing a shift in the conversation, as if the older woman was aware something was unnatural about the desk. She rushed in to reassure the woman's fears, also she didn't want anyone to find out that her special secret was anything but distressingly ordinary. Not fancying it being dissected by government scientists or turned into kindling by a rabid witch hunter, whichever came first should the truth be known.

"Oh, I absolutely adore it, and was just curious, how something so old could still be in such good condition?" She replied as innocently pleasant as she could be, fortunately her eyes were big and blue enough to get the point she wanted to make across. "It seemed a fun way to learn a little history, my own personal Sherlock Holmes mystery, so to speak."

The answer seemed to please the older woman immensely because the oppressive aura in the room seemed to ease up instantly with the presented opportunity to talk some more about her area of "expertise."

The woman heaved a dramatic sigh, perfectly obvious to her audience that it was more for theatrics than anything else."It's an old story, my dear. Many of the older English families these days are sometimes low on funds. So they sell their antiques out the backdoors of their estates to make some quick money on the side, such a pity. But I'm glad this unique piece found its way to someone who truly appreciates it."

"_You don't know the half of it sister,"_ she thought amused.

But the pleasant, sunny smile remained all the same, fishing for info aside, she really liked this woman. When rising to leave, she had promised to return for tea again. It was the least she could do. There were too few genuinely nice souls left in the world.

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><p>The trip while not productive as a whole had confirmed her suspicions on two things.<p>

One: Whoever was writing to her was British in origin. _(Hence the holier-than-thou egomaniacal approach to life in general.)_

And Two: The desk was somehow, someway _magical._

All those years of unshakable belief in the unseen world had finally paid off. Because her little piece of the metaphysical pie had for all purposes fallen in her lap. She was sorely tempted to just laugh in the face of the common logic her ever-practical parents had shoved down her throat for countless years. But what good would it serve her now, she had what she wanted. It was a small thing, but she was grateful, sent silent prayers of thanks upward, and questioning it no more.

Thus the universe was satisfied in its decision of divine gift-bestowing.

She was in such a good mood, that when she opened the drawer for her usual every-other-day crabby, attitude-laden letter. Where she usually just got mad at the contents, this time she laughed whole-heartedly realizing what an utter fool she'd been for so long. And it was time to remedy it, this time she sent it on plain old boring white computer paper. As a kind of peace offering.

_Sir, _

_I know we've gotten off on the wrong foot. But recent events have brought to light, at least with me. The source of our headaches is not of __**where**__, but rather of __**when**__. Somehow our desks have become connected in the greater web of time and space, thus causing our little 'exchanges of opinion'. While I don't know how it happened, I'm glad it did. And while I'm sure we've caused each other countless pains to say the least. I'd like to declare a cease-fire and be on more friendly terms with you. Seeing as I'm not sure how much longer this wonderful accident will last. Please let me know._

_Thank you_

The reply almost had her falling off the chair, doubled over paralytic with laughter.

_Just when I think you can't get anymore bizarre, you come out and pull this. You are obviously a very disturbed personality. Why else would you concoct such a tale? Well, I won't be fooled. Of that I assure you. You are obviously planning something ominous, because you keep breaking into my desk. Just to write me letters, I think not. I may be cursed, but I'm not stupid. Time and space? Blah, I just think you are some poor misguided soul who most likely thinks themself in love with me. That's why you've gone to all this trouble. I have yet to figure out who you are, but when I do. I assure you retribution will be swift!_

Hoo Boy, this person had a high and mighty opinion of themselves that was for sure. Thus she replied with a few obvious points of her own, knowing she was going to have some major fun with this. And maybe get a little payback too.

_Oh, really? Well then, I'll make you a little wager. If I am as you say I am, and you know where I lurk. I'll give you the opportunity to catch me. Move your desk to an area you are positive has no secret exits, nor hidden devices of any kind. Then lock your desk and the room therein. Secure it tightly, keep the keys close to your heart and let no one pass for as long as you wish. Offer a reward for my capture; do as you like to find me. But I can assure you, you will find another letter from me safe and sound in the drawer when you return. And in the meanwhile, you will have found no trace of me, because I do not exist in your world. Still, on that slim chance you should indeed find me. I will willingly put myself in your hands and allow you to do as you wish with me. But if I win, I only ask you take what I've said at face value. Do we have a deal?_

What came back were two solitary words,

_I accept._

She couldn't help but chuckle at that, "Let the games begin."


	5. Bittersweet Victory

**I just wanted to give you a heads up, that from here on in. It's gonna get weirder and there will be major SPOILERS! In future chapters, so if you don't want to know you might want to jump ship now. Anyway ok bye bye...**

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><p><em>When you have eliminated everything, that which remains, however improbable must be the truth. - Sherlock Holmes -<em>

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><p>It was a month to the day when she received another letter.<p>

And surprisingly, expecting fireworks she found it to be more like wet ashes because it wasn't as _colorful_ as the previous ones had been. Kind of a letdown actually.

_I have tried, by God I have tried. I checked it outside and in, locked it with heavy iron chains threw it into the deepest room in the manor. Even posting guards at one point. I searched and asked openly and covertly, put all the resources at my disposal to use in ways I never thought possible. I don't know how. But everything you have said you have done and succeeded in doing so. I concede, you win. I have seen many strange things in my short life, but what you are asking me to believe is nothing short of impossible. I must be insane to keep writing to someone who__** I still believe**__ is a nonexistent entity. How it can be? I have no explanation for it._

In the previous weeks she had fantasized, long and hard after all it was one the one talent in her life that she was actually good at. Of the unknown person trying as hard, even going to more elaborate lengths than she had to figure out the elusive mystery of the letters. Maybe a lot of the usual stereotypical stuff, violent tantrums, throwing miscellaneous stuff at other stuff peppered with a lot more creative cursing and perhaps, some hair-pulling on the latter's part.

Especially when the only thing she'd written on the promised letter was the universal four-words,

_"I told you so :) ."_

With a little smiley face on the side, a spur of the moment decision, just her dark side deciding it wanted to be extra cheeky at the time. Apparently it'd been right on the money, but while the tendency towards testing the limits of the recipient's annoyance button had been funny at the time and the return content was no less entertaining. The victory couldn't help but feel a bit bittersweet for some reason. Like life handing her a really nice candy, it had started out pretty sweet but turned really sour in her mouth.

And this one's aftertaste left much to be desired.

But having been on the receiving end of life's ill-fated boots in the backside from the day she was conceived, and equally disliked the ones who took perverse pleasure in dishing them out. Now here she was turning into that which she hated most, and it wasn't fun, at all.

So for once in her life, she took the initiative, marching confidently over and ignoring that battle line in the sand white flag held high aloft. All in the form of the white paper of another letter.

_Sir,_

_I know it seems very hard to believe, but as a great man once said. "Once you have eliminated all possibilities, that which remains, however unlikely must be the truth." And I have definitely embraced it with the current situation. I, as well, wasn't convinced at first. I, like you sought to punch a hole in this so-called preposterous theory. Seeking to use every means at my command to expose what I was positive was a fantastic lie, even going so far as to bed down on it with a blunt object poised and ready in my hand. But then when all was said and done, you know what I realized? __I'm an idiot, plain and simple! __So, you are not as alone as you think, I'm in the same boat as you. Two sides of the same coin, you in your world and I in mine. It's merely a state of mind that prevents us from perhaps, becoming friends. At least, that's what I'd like to be to you. And I think deep down on some subconcious level, you do too. After all though the only words we have seemed to exchange were angry ones, we still have continued to write. Stranger things have happened, believe me, I of all people know. I seek to gain nothing from you; I don't even know who you are. And vice versa. We both seem to be alone and struggling in our prospective places, who are we hurting? I, for one, am ready to stop the harsh words and silly games. I shall be right here just a penstroke away, if you wish to do so. And if it is, might I know your name? I'm tired of the whole, "hey you" game. _

_P.S. If you still don't believe me. Think about this, that paper I sent you alone should make you believe, who can get something that bizarre in nineteenth century London._

What came back was a simple response, but a profound one.

_I am Earl Cain Christian Hargreaves. Who are you?_

To say it was shocking would have been, _**"THE Understatement of the Millennium"!**_

The infamous 'Earl who Courts Death'!

The boy who collected poisons and whose every waking moment was borrowed time incarnate!

The most-of-all _imaginary_ manga dude thought up by a really talented Japanese lady, whose tragic storyline millions of desperate girls the world over, cried about constantly!

True there were a lot of, _'What the hells?'_ and _'No Freaking ways!'_ running around upstairs. They were tripping and rolling over and along with the remaining marbles of that consisted of her scattered thoughts. Because this whole thing had just rocketed on a one-way trip from the Realm of the Safely Strange to the Ultimate Universe of the Freaking Twilight Zone! Heavy emphasis on the "freak" part. She could just hear that stupid theme song now, ringing circles around her mind. Crap, she wouldn't have been surprised if Alfred Hitchcock, himself rose from the dead to ring her door bell in the next five minutes demanding entry.

The world felt like it had been snatched out from under her like Lucy pulling the football away from Charlie Brown. All at the last possible second and leaving him to careen and cartwheel out of control into the ether, screaming all the way down. Now she related to Ol'Chuck on a whole new level. Because how in all the worlds did _she,_ of all people get a direct line to _Count Cain_?

This was probably every fanfic writer's ultimate dream! And all she'd done was buy the first stinking book! Forget across time, this guy was across worlds! Some divine body upstairs definitely got the cosmic parallel universe wires crossed somewhere, and as she didn't have a service number. Honestly, if she really thought about it, she really didn't want any "higher-ups", if there were any, to know at all. Just this once, as quietly as possible she decided to go easy on fate and make the best of it.

But how was she going to answer him? Everything that consisted of her small world, though she probably experienced more in a day from TV and books than he would in a year. All summed up to being as entertaining as watching paint dry on a hot afternoon. One word. Boring. Cain Hargreaves wasn't one who had the liberty of picking and choosing his friends on merits alone, lives depended on it that much she did know.

_However,_ here was one person who was never likely to see her directly _ever_.

Suddenly a thought struck her, almost as if guided by some will not her own her gaze traveled up the nearby wall. Upon it was a painting, not particularly old, done only a few years before in a high school art class. The project had been a simple one, paint the first thing that came to your mind. The only image of her inner most thoughts and fantisies, she'd ever let grace the light of day, she'd gotten an A+ and one of the few times admiration was heaped on her. For the end result was a lifelike portrait of her, "alter-ego". The real her, she'd thought mournfully to herself at the time. But this, _this_ was the opportunity of a thousand, thousand lifetimes and then some, absolutely anything was possible here! And she was grabbing it by the horns and not even Hell; itself was going to shake her off her prize for once in her life.

_I'm Raven Nightwing, Master Wizard. But please call me Small Lady, nice to meet you._

Thus beginning one of the most unique friendships either world was ever likely to see.


	6. New Friends

**I'm SUPER SORRY I haven't updated in forever, a friend of mine passed away and I also started working two jobs. So my time has been (and will become) a bit crunched from now on, but I'm NOT giving up! I WILL find time to update and this WILL BE FINISHED! Its just the economy SUCKS right now, so I'm sorry in advance and hope you enjoy the current installment:)!**

**PS: Now I know there really**_** isn't**_** an anime, but just for this fic. I'm just cashing in major artistic license on this!**

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><p><em>The greatest victory which can be won is to turn an enemy into a friend. - Anon. -<em>

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><p>Like the chime of a Grandfather Clock striking the whole of time itself that passed with a rapid businesslike efficiency.<p>

The letters came now with almost clockwork frequency, almost every other day in fact.

Though it had taken a little bit to convince her strange penpal that she was indeed real, though he continued to write she could tell he wasn't entirely convinced. They had settled somewhat into a strange, almost amusedly morbid routine. For her anyway.

But speaking of clocks, becoming intimately privy into the innermost workings of the very cogs and gears which made the clever mind of Cain Heargreaves basically, tick. She found that despite his incessant need to dominate conversations with all sorts of psychological techno/emotional, just plain all sorts of _psycho_ actually. But in a_ good_ way. He would go indepth about all sorts of issues that would have probably made Sigmund Fraud do a one-eighty and run the marathon of his life, back to the starting gate. She bore it all with good humor, and no complaints. It was the littlest things, the tiniest thing actually that gave her hours of quite frankly, _endless_ amusement.

Because she had found was that the infamous Poison Earl liked to talk, quite a lot!

He reminded her of a leaky bucket, full of himself and a bit of a drip on occasion. Though, with Cain she had found that unlike other people who would irk the freaking crap out of her just by opening their mouths. He could write pages and pages of the most non-sequential drivel. Everything from intelligently explaining the properties of wolfs bane and monkshood in certain rare poisons over paragraphs. Then breaking in the middle of a line reverting to crabbing incessantly that he gotten his toe stepped on for the umpteenth time by an over-persistent dance partner at one of many, more numerous balls. Or his tea sandwiches being cut correctly for once then tasting excellent because of it. She was probably the only person who could decipher the language that was Earl Cain, it made her smile.

What she offered was probably nothing short of a miracle to him. Finding he was at the core a kind-hearted soul, just _extremely_ cautious. It didn't really surprise her though; she was the one person in his life (even indirectly) who was not under the manipulating influence of his bastard father nor Delilah.

But while continuing to write to him, the time that wasn't spent doing that or looking for work. It was spent combing various library and store bookshelves and mostly the internet; it took some major string pulling in the overseas market and a bit of unexpected luck. When she came into possession of a box filled with the complete mangas, Godchild/Count Cain, an unexpected yet not unwelcome surprise came when she found several bootleg DVDs in clear jewel cases hidden in the bottom. Upon closer inspection to her unending amazement, apparently there was an underground Count Cain anime too!

Still, more even _bigger_ surprises were on the way though! When sitting down to watch one of said DVDs the player while old and for the most part behaved itself. Suddenly decided to get a mind of its own, for instead of the menu or maybe at least a musical montage. The picture immediately went to the back of a familiar figure she knew, _very well_. Though it had only been through pictures and a fan art or two.

Cain Heargraves sitting at a desk, which was an almost identical duplicate of her own. She managed a glance to see the finish had a few scratch marks, then couldn't help but giggle a bit. On his face was a look of intense concentration, she could hear the fountain pen tapping rhythmically on the paper. As if he wasn't sure what to write. He was in a study of some type, the room as a whole looked kind of familiar. He looked out toward the windows which seemed to look out onto a vast garden and if she strained hard enough. She thought she could almost make out the voice of a child singing.

Almost face palming right then and there because of sheer stupidity of the realization, of course, Merryweather! Cain's little sister. She was probably out on her swing with one of the household staff carefully chaperoning. Just thinking of the fairy-like little former street waif, now all golden curls and carefully pressed tulle and lace. The mental image of her possibly trickily launching herself off the seat across the grounds of the old English manor house, skirts a-flying, just to see how far she could go in the grass. The resulting landing sending the watching maids into a crazy tizzy weither more from the possible injury to the child's person, the surefire stains on expensive cloth. However or the most likely scolding all three would receive that would come from the dreaded "Lord of the House," himself.

She couldn't help but grin the overall image was just too precious.

But something about this scene just struck as odd, as Cain sighed in defeat and put the paper into the middle drawer. She never did know what compelled her to do so, entering her own study she opened her own 'mail drawer' and peered in.

Lo and behold, there was another letter! She was absolutely positive that the previous had been claimed the night before. Therefore having nothing else to do in her stunned silence but go back into the living room to read while staring from time to time in disbelief at the image on the screen.

_**Raven, **_

_**I'm sorry, but I have to leave for a few days. No, I must leave this house the air has becoming too stifling. And while I know Merryweather and the estate alike is in capable hands with, my faithful steward Riff. Even he cannot know of this. As he would most likely try and stop me. But I do not wish you to write to me for a least a week. As I do not wish my relationship with you to be known to others, lest they think I am anymore insane than they already fancy me to be. I please ask you to be understanding in this matter.**_

_**Cain**_

An unexpected trip? Though she was flattered he'd tell her and no one else. Why did that sound so familiar, when her gaze fell on the metal-topped cane which never left Cain's side. A lightbulb just seemed to go off in her head, flipping thru her mental archives soon she had the answer, Sunday's Solomon Grundy!How could she have been so stupid? Cain had to be warned, now! 

However being subtly witty, finding clever uses for quotation marks, bold letters and writing in subtle flowery riddles, wasn't a talent one could come by easily normally. Somehow with several false starts and sheer determination she puttered thru also managing to sound unusually nonchalant along the way. As if she were merely talking about the weather or how a relative was faring, rather than an actual 'life or death' situation.

_**Cain, **_

_**You are such a worry wart! I know you don't believe in my abilities, but you can't hide things from me. Like this **_'unexpected trip'_**is actually one of your little poison collecting excursions. But listen on the return trip, you'll meet a **_"Mourning Rose"_** pining for Esther, she possesses something longed for by Edward. That which he seeks so desperately to find lies within the right eye of their child. And don't dismiss this Cain! I hope you have an overall good trip and await your return. **_

_**Good Journey, Small Lady.**_

Promptly placing it into a sealed envelope, she wrote another shorter, **bolder **message on the envelope.

_**Don't open until you reach your destination! R.**_

And earnestly prayed that it would reach him in time.

As for the next week, she tore up the internet even more. Looking for more indepth information of Cain's adventures, character bios anything that had anything even remotely useful in the way of information. It was an enlightening week, that was for sure. But Cain's prompt response she couldn't help but smile at. He obviously didn't want to waste any time, she was glad she'd told him to wait. Let the big blow hard explain away this one.

Boy, did it ever come back to bite her in Big, **BOLD** letters! With lots of exclamation marks too!

_**RAVEN NIGHTWING!**_

_**How in all the hells, did you know that would happen? It was just cryptic enough to rouse my interest, but I just assumed it was one of your strange fantasies. But it happened **__**exactly**__** as you said it would! I was able to bring some sliver of justice for the woman because of it. But I have waited many days in order to find out the truth, and I want some answers Raven Nightwing! NOW!**_

_**Cain**_

Held between two fingers she regarded Cain's personal stationary, the lovely butter cream paper with the Heargreaves family coat of arms embossed into it to look more imposing than it actually was. While just having a gut-feeling that this sort of thing was going to happen a lot in the near future. With a roll of baby-blues, a crinkle of the nose as if catching a whiff of something foul, wrote back with just as much, possibly_ more_ sarcastic fervor.

_**Cain, **_

_**As I have explained to you, many a time and again.**__**What isn't possible for you to physically do so via the natural laws of mortal science. I do myself, despite the fact and I have nothing to gain nor profit from you in any negative way, shape or form. Every word I have ever spoken to you is truth. Why can't you just accept it? **_

_**I AM capable of rearranging the fundamental building blocks of the universe in under a second with enough time left over to conquer the world. I MANIPULATE matter on a subatomic level by merely thinking. A MERE FLICK of my finger is sufficient to alter the very gravitational pull of the planet. I shelve physics under "fiction" in my personal library! I consider the Laws of Thermodynamics loose guidelines at best! In short, I am grasping the reins of the universe's carriage, and every morning I wake up, look to the heavens, and shout "Giddy up, boy!" You may never grasp the complexities of what I do, but at least have the courtesy to feign something other than slack-jawed oblivion to my face. I, sir am a GRAND MASTER WIZARD, and I break more natural laws before breakfast than of which you are even aware!**_

_**I told you those things because I am tired of your unbelief. And I wanted to help you and was able to do so. So on a whole it wasn't a total flop, I got you to question outside the box, didn't I? I'm still your friend, no matter how much you rant at me. Just let it go and accept there is something outside your little sphere of a world. Because newsflash, I'm here! And I'm not leaving anytime soon. So, deal with it, Earl Heargraves X-P!**_

_**Small Lady**_

He didn't write for a bit after that, and just figured with no small amount of satisfaction. That she had probably blown Cain off his pedestal sufficiently enough he had crawled into some dark, little hidey hole somewhere to lick the salt from his battle wounds. A part of her did feel a little sorry she was so harsh to him; after all he had enough crap to live with. The drawing of the raspberry at the end of the letter might have been a wee bit much too. But she had been pissed, so sue her. Plus "Mr. I-know-everything-in-the-universes" had to learn sometime, if he had to stomach a pound of bitter with the sweet to do so, so be it. Better to bandage a wound than letting it fester.

She watched him via her personnel window into his life;aka: The DVD player. Many times she saw him just itching to pick up that fancy onyx fountain pen and blast back at her. But her words did seem to have hit an unseen cord within him. For he wore his "thinking" expression much more, Riff and Merry made an appearance or two. As well as Oscar Gabriel, had tried to get Cain out of his funk. The only result had lapsed into his usual lack of manners, earning whacks on the upside of the head from both, Merry _and_ Cain.

'_Oscar is nice enough, though he gives legitimate morons a bad name.' _She quipped to herself watching the brother-sister tag team. It didn't stop her wincing in sympathy as she heard a pained masculine-girly yelp when a small hand met a particularly tender patch of exposed skin.

Eventually he did write back and it contained a very unusual request.

_**I concede, you win once again, Raven. Some part of me wishes to believe you but still cannot fathom what seems to be going on. Tell me more about your world, please. C.**_

Those few simple sentences conveyed one thing, but screamed another. Defeat, pure and simple! Where most people would have gloated she just smiled knowingly and began to write.

_**Cain, **_

_**What can I say but the honest truth? I come from a time in the future where wondrous things, almost magical events within themselves take place. There are buildings which touch the sky and you can see for miles on the clearest day, we can fly in across the globe in mere hours rather than weeks on a ship. I saw man walk on the moon, and likewise the best and worst faces of humankind. We have as many problems as good things, sometimes more so. And you know what seems to get us through? Hope! Because we believe if we give people the tools like love, honor, loyalty and forgiveness they can make their lives and others a little better. I know it's hard to understand but I am real and here for you, Cain Heargraves. Don't worry it'll be alright. **_

_**Small Lady**_

She'd been compelled to do a lot of things as of late and this one was no exception. She went to her computer and into the Photoshop's saved documents. It was too easy to manipulate photos these days, and while she would never allow him to see what she really looked like. Maybe, the realistic color photo she sent of her 'real self' would be enough.

It was.

_**Raven, **_

_**I put your gift in a frame my sister gave me. It's not the loveliest thing. But it seems to fit. It's so odd, I gave into an urge and when all the servants were out. I sat it next to all the other photographs on the parlor mantle. Though I know I must hide it away soon, because…a **__**color**__** photograph! Such a little marvel, sitting quite contentedly next to all the black and white ones almost unhinged me. For I look at it and see you, a real person in some other place not unlike my own, yet at the same time not. Everything you have told me seems so hard to believe, but looking at your sweet smile, I just do. No, I know it's true. Still, I can't help but wonder, why me? Why was I chosen to be the recipient of your correspondence? I have neither answers nor an explanation.**_

_**Cain**_

She couldn't help the small blush that came from a crumb of praise like that as she wasn't used to them. It was sweet all the same, and much appreciated. The result causing her to forward a request of her own.

_**Cain, **_

_**I've been asking myself that from day one. All I can say is, good or bad, magic attracts magic. Wither it be in an inanimate object or not, I attract it weither I like it or not. Always have, always will. But this is one of the happier times. I figured you couldn't dispute something like it that while foreign to you, it's as common as water to me. Still, now you know what I look like. Would it be rude of me to want one of my own. Of you and Merryweather, perhaps? **_

_**Small Lady**_

She didn't get a letter back, instead a sepia photograph so clear that it could have been taken yesterday. And probably was. From what she little she knew of him, it was pure Cain. For he stood grinning smugly, yet sexily across the worlds, as if he wanted to convey a different yet, literal image from the one she was currently cultivating from all their letters. Face to the name, so to speak.

As he leaned over a chair upon which sat Merryweather, absolutely drowning in a sea of petticoats and lace that seemed bigger than she was. The expression on her small face was one that made her laugh, for it looked like the camera had caught her off guard. Quite a feat considering Victorian versions of cameras if she remembered her history correctly. The bulky wooden boxes, took between ten and twenty minutes of sitting still to develop a quality photograph. And for an active child like Merryweather, it was probably nothing short of childish agony. The strained body posture and blank expression on her face was testament enough to it.

Cain must have promised her something substantial for the little girl to have a surprise photo session with probably no questions asked. She'd nicknamed it 'stoically surprised' for lack of anything else to call it, it fit perfectly regardless. The picture once more struck a chord of familiarity; wracking her brain for an answer she realized it was the same one from, Little Crooked House. Only this one showed something that most fangirls would have probably sold without hesitation their souls for. A pair of _real_ people, not drawn on paper. And she put it in a small frame of her own, setting it on her desk where she could always look at it. Somehow she felt an impasse had been breached and surmounted, in just a few scant days.

Sometime after that, the second set of letters started coming, written in a neat, yet loopy childish scrawl.


	7. Merryweather

**Hey all! Long time no see, sorry for the long wait on an update. Working like crazy, I just moved into a smaller place, got a new kitten…In short, not a lot of time on my hands. But I tried when I could find a few moments to work on this, I finally succeeded and I hope you enjoy this.**

**Oh P.S. before anybody gets their underpants in a wad, and jumps down my throat, I changed some of my characters and replaced it with, "Mew" from the Pokemon series. I ****DON'T**** own him, he's my favorite and I think is totally adorable. I'm just borrowing him for a little bit to play with in my story, he belongs to somebody else. Again, I DON'T OWN, JUST BORROWING!**

**So, if you can't read big, bold print and want to crawl up my backside for an ego boost. You WILL be reported before you are introduced to my blocked list! Thanks and have a wonderful day:)!**

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><p><em>Out of the mouths of babes come things we shouldn't have said in the first place. - Anon. –<em>

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><p>All was well for a time, until one morning…<p>

_**Are you the reason that big brother is spending so much time alone these days? Riff is starting to get worried about him, and so am I. I read your letters to him, are you his secret lover? I just want to warn you, big brother plays with hearts like chess pieces. Before he drops them and they break like a mirror.**_

She almost face-faulted at that, not only because of how true the last statement was. However also it wasn't to say that she was too terribly surprised, well she was. Who wouldn't be? It was just the principal of the thing, and it told her two things.

**One:** Little-sister was _way_ more astute than big-brother gave her credit for.

**Two:** Big Brother had absolutely no idea his "Lovely" Little Sister was onto him.

From what she gleaned from the both from the manga and Cain's gushing/crabbing over the child at various times. Merry was a fairly nice little girl, but also loud and stubborn, rebellious with obnoxious tendencies. Just like any normal child in her opinion, plus the older brother too if she thought about it hard enough. But had to stop quickly as it only cave her a migraine. While Merry had the ability to get away with it being a child and all, Cain on the other hand...Well he had no excuse, he was just himself and set in his ways. However the problem was now she found herself staring unintentionally into the business end of Merryweather Hargreaves, herself. She figured approaching the child the same way she did when she had first met Cain was better. In other words, to just tell the truth and get it sorted out later.

_**Why he's alone, yes. Lover, **__heck no! __**Your brother is kind in his own way, but **__**so not**__** my name is Small Lady, by the way and you must be The Famous, Merryweather. Cain's told me a lot about you, his sweet little sister. It's nice to finally hear from the living legend herself. But you do realize that he's going to be very cross at you when he finds you've been poking through his private papers. **__Especially __**our letters, I thought he said he burned those. Oh well. If I were you Merry, I'd burn this letter and forget you ever saw the others. I won't tell him that you did take a peek.**_

She would have left it at that. Only the child so like her older brother, when she got her mitts into something interesting wasn't about to let it go lightly. Or if the answers weren't to her liking. Apparently, Merryweather wasn't about to let a second person puppet her in her own life, save this time through the shadows. She never knew how Merry got it past Cain, but at almost the same time promptly received another letter from the child the very next day. Merryweather, for her part, picked right up in the "conversation" where she had left off the day before. When she read the contents, she found herself torn between outright laughter and a face fault.

_**From your letters, I know you must be a girl, because you sound much smarter than Big Brother. But just so you know, Cain both tells every girl he can about me. Also a lot of girls lose their common sense around him no matter how intelligent they are.**__** Sometimes I think I'm only around half the time for the sole purpose of his picking them up in bars. **_

_**As for burning the letters, no. I saw Cain putting them under the loose bench board in the window seat in the parlor. It was an accident, at first. Then I noticed it wasn't just once, it happened again and again. So, I decided to investigate your letters were so interesting I read all of them. **_

_**That's how I found about you, the Wizard. Are you really one? **_

_**Like Merlin? What are familiars anyway? Is Big Brother's desk really magic? Are you really from another world? I want to know all about you. **_

_**Anyway, Cain got called away for a few days by Uncle Neil, family business. Ugh! I get a headache just thinking about it. So, you can talk to me until he gets back. **_

_**P.S. Do you have any more of that pretty pink paper? I thought it was cute.**_

_'Not only is this kid nosy, but is she a freaking mind reader too?,'_ she thought with no small shock.

The child certainly knew how to cover her bases, because Merry had just eliminated the main reason/argument for her not wanting to speak with her.

Now that part made her smile, _so_ like Cain, yet _so not_.

Quickly filing the part about Cain keeping her letters hidden away for a later time, possibly future blackmail.

Still, she wondered what would it harm. Cain wasn't around to spoil anything, plus getting to know Merryweather was a rather unique chance. As the young Earl she had seen tended to guard her rather jealously, even from his most-trusted-joined-at-the-hip-partner-in-crime, Riff. Not that she minded, she was the same way with him. Then again who in their right mind would believe her if she told them, without a straight-jacket and paddy wagon getting involved, that is.

Merry was different, from just those two sheets of thin paper covered with thin scrawl, and a few little inkblots here and there. A little child trying her hand at being an adult, instead of sophisticated ended up as rather cute. Merry was indeed cute, though she had the feeling if the child ever heard her say that outright, pain would be quickly involved. Still she outright liked the petite blonde angel. The only thing different was in a conversation, Merry knew how to cut through, in an almost eerie, surgical way to the very marrow of a matter.

Glancing over the desk at the odds and ends that littered the cubby holes, another opportunity to further her well-spun tale of mystery and magic. All good stories had to have supporting characters, especially of different heritages and backgrounds.

She was no exception.

She wasn't the best artist, but if she tried hard enough it would come out right. A small painted statue of an old woman in a drab dress. The small matted canvas of two fairies and in a shameless breech of copyright laws, a little figurine of the Ultra Rare-Ultra Adorable Pokemon, Mew. One that she'd once shamelessly fished out of her nephew's Happy Meal. Only to end up with it because he was deemed too young to handle the toy responsibly, not that she minded. These had become her traveling companions and family had been given histories all their own. And a long time ago she had wished they did indeed live.

But nobody said they couldn't truly come alive in the mind of a child.

As she dug about in one of the lower storage drawers of the desk, she found an old pink Tinkerbell Stationary Set. It had been bought not so long before; she'd thought it adorable at the time. But had never found an oppurtunity to use it, settling differences with Cain long before she could have subjected him to it. If the perfumed one got such a big reaction, she couldn't help but wonder at what _this_ would have had. Anyway, it was perfect for a little girl just Merry's age at least if her mental calculations of age in the manga as well as what the label proclaimed were correct. She settled into her comfy kitchen/office chair as she wrote her lengthiest reply to date.

_**1. Yes, I am. **_

_**2. No, I'm a girl. **_

_**3. Familiars are animals or spirits that are companions that aid in magic workings. **_

_**4. Yes, it is. **_

_**5. See answer 1.**_

_**My name is Raven Nightwing. But call me Small Lady, I've told your brother that at least a hundred times. But no, he still calls me otherwise. He can be a bit of a blockhead, sometimes. **_

_**Well, I reside within a twenty-first century world where science rules. **_

_**I live with my maid, Lucille Gem Farrell, Lucy for short. She's a full blooded demon from the Nether Realms. She's been with me almost as long as Riff has with Cain. **_

_**I have several familiars, Artemis, A Mew. He's sort-of like a flying cat that can manipulate energy and is very bouncy. **_

_**There's Guni, an Urban Fairy, very sassy, can be a tad …"opinionated", but has a heart of gold none the less. Though we don't see it all that often due to the frequent necessity of residing in different parts of the house at times during the day. **_

_**Vogelin, the living automation. It means 'little bird' in German, I'm sure the irony of our names isn't lost upon you. I assure you, I didn't intend it to be that way, I honestly don't know what I was thinking that day. Originally I made her to be a simple dancing music box, but apparently she had other ideas becoming what she is today.**_

_**We all reside together in a small home in an even smaller town in America. I have no immediate family save for them. And we just try to live as well as we can, with what we have. I'm not a glamorous person, but I'm accomplished at what I do. That I can be proud of. And as for the paper, here's a present for you. Just don't let anybody find it! **_

_**Small Lady**_

And thus did another somewhat odd friendship begin.

Merryweather was on whole a sweet little thing, but one shouldn't have been fooled. That adorable little exterior of hers masked a mature soul, a hardened warrior of many battles better left to the past. She supposed that Merry's earlier life on the streets of Victorian London had tempered the child in a way that even the normally on-top-of-things, Cain couldn't fathom.

But it didn't mean the new perspective of the younger Heargraves sibling was unwelcome. Far from it, it was more than welcome, tremendously so. To tell the truth, a little nagging feeling at the back of her mind for a while now had expected something such as this to happen. And as the child was more in tune to the _mystical_ side of things, as a result within two letters the child was utterly convinced of her own authenticity. Though the stationary set probably helped, a little. Merry proved to be a valuable source of information into a deeper in-depth character assessment of her first brooding pen-friend.

Like Sharazade and her one-thousand Arabian Nights, she regaled and spun tales of her own world and the, ahem_..."adventures"_ she'd lived. To the utterly enchanted little girl, who never seemed to tire of hearing of them. In return seemed elated that an _actual adult_, (even if in another world). Unfalteringly listened to her mundane questions, observations and childish thoughts. And amazingly even _encouraged _her to ask them, even if they were considered too strange, too simple or even too obvious to others.

Mysteries seemed to draw the child, delighting her, especially puzzles that had no answers or so many possible resolutions that there might as well be none. Even disagreements over philosophies as well as speculations about the nature of the world, seen and unseen.

From those time old,_ "Why is the sky blue or the grass green?"_ type stuff. To the profound, _"Is there a God?" _and the downright silly, _"Why is Oscar such a moron?"._

Layers upon layers of unknowns, thick as the snow on the mountaintops in winter, mysteries entwining like the many-colored currents of the ever-changing sea.

She answered all as best she could, and took delight in Merry's childish enthusiasm. Which she suspected that in an upper-class place like Heargraves Manor wasn't let out very much. Time and again though the little girl voiced her wishes to the older one.

_**I wish you could come here. It'd be wonderful to have somebody who wasn't afraid to play with me. The maids, who are assigned to watch me, do just that, but they won't come near me. I think they're afraid to touch me, like I'm tainted or something like that. **_

_**As for Big Brother, I love him, very much. But he treats me like one of the dolls in my room. I once overheard that idiot, Oscar say that I was treated like a jewel in a glass case. **_

_**It's true, Small Lady! You're the **__**only**__** one who listens to me, ever! Even if it's only on written paper. **_

She couldn't help but smile a little sullenly at that, looking at the tear-stained paper before her. Picturing a teary-eyed little girl, her heart clenched in response. People could accuse what they liked about her, but she did have a heart. Thus understand completely for it wasn't so very long ago that she was in the exact same boat.

_**Merry,**_

_**I know your brother can be a **__**major**__** pain in the backside! Believe me; **__**I**__** of all people know where you are coming from. But have no doubt, little one. He loves you more than life itself, including his own. He'd sacrifice it at the drop of a hat if God, himself asked him to do so.**_

_**All I can say is, when he was growing up. Despite that he had all the wealth in the world, he was poorer than the lowest beggar in England. Sometimes it's hard for adults to show what they really feel inside and we misinterpret the resulting actions. I know he gets on your nerves and makes you want to knock him upside the head for stupidity alone. **_

_**But never doubt Cain's love for you, darling. Or mine. I may not be able to part the worlds and give you a hug, if I could I would. But we will be there for you whenever you need us. All you need do is ask. That's the difference between anything getting done or not. **_

Having another female's input seemed to make the little girl think a little differently about her older brother, for a while at least. As for Cain, himself. Well, for a while he remained oblivious of the two girls telling tales behind his back. He wrote to her on many occasions telling things about Merry she herself already knew from the child's own letters first. While two piles of letters now steadily grew in the drawers of her desk.

Like the infamous incident which would later come to be known as, _The Mad Tea Party_.


End file.
